literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
On Reading
SNOW was the first word I recall learning to read. I was around three years old in the early 1970’s and had a wonderful contraption called a Fischer Price school desk. It had large cards with holes in them that the chunky, plastic alphabet letters that are still stuck to refrigerators all over America today, nestled into perfectly. Each cutout card spelled a three-to-five letter word and had a simple sentence and picture to match drawn upon the face of the card. The SNOW card was my favorite. Living in southern Louisiana at the time, snow was not something I ever remembered experiencing first-hand. Something about the smiling snowman in his warm scarf and hat looking on as children played with their dog in the falling snow and deep drifts always made me long to play in the snow. I can close my eyes and picture that card with the letters so lovingly placed in the holes. It’s one of my earliest memories and is as clear as the day I first played with the cards.
By Kellie Griffin5 years ago in Families
Iris
Me an’ Bobby an’ my eight-year old daughter, Kylie, were staying with my sister. She got a double wide set up at the Shady Acres in Leb’non. It was real nice. Maybe there weren’t as much room with us being there and all, but we was doing okay. Ev’rybody was getting along pretty good, right up til Bobby lost his job. That’s when she put us out. All of us. Me. Bobby. An’ Kylie.
By Haze Medley5 years ago in Families
Family Jewels
July 1, 2000 Hoxie Arkansas is a sweltering hot day. This is a "One Horse Town". Four corners a traffic light and railroad tracks running through. My grandmother Arnette bequeathed twenty thousand dollars to me to execute her estate. Her home is the last asset to close the estate.
By Cara Arildsen5 years ago in Families
The Reward
"I woke up, and a mountain lion sat not 6 feet away, sunning on a rock." Esmira's chocolate brown eyes focused off in the distance as she relived the memory. Her long fingers stroked the plait of gray, but lustrous hair she had pulled over her shoulder as her excitement built.
By Ginger Worthington Casebeer5 years ago in Families
Stone of the "Uncontacted"
PART I WHITE PLAINS, NEW YORK – SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 2019; 8:47PM “I can’t stand the feeling of construction paper - it gives me goosebumps,” I announced, as my fingers brushed a small stack of scribbled crayon drawings I had etched during my younger years. The papers, once a vibrant red, were now weathered, orange, and torn around the edges. They had a familiar graininess to them that I abhorred, even as a child.
By Michael Valentino5 years ago in Families
Nana's Story
“Emma, darling,” my grandmother calls from her study down the hall, “I have something for you.” I hear a slight grunt and I’m off the crocheted-lace doily laden settee in her living room, dust motes rising in furious coral clouds, reflecting the light from the orange and pink stained-glass windows above the couches. I walk quickly down the hallway, Nana was very stubborn when it came to asking for help and I didn’t want her hurting herself, as her back had been giving her issues lately. We almost collide in the doorway, something sharp knocking into my shin.
By Zoe Haight5 years ago in Families
“Grann’s Secret”
“Grann’s Secret” Deborah A. Ratliff The tinkle of a bell attached to the door frame announced her arrival. Intense aromas from bins of fragrant herbs and incense assaulted Veronique Bergeron’s senses, and memories of her childhood hiding in the nooks and crannies of her grandmother’s Bourbon Street voodoo shop swept over her. Memories she had long repressed.
By D. A. Ratliff5 years ago in Families
Bubbah'
Bubbah I wiped the cold from my eyes and hopped out of the bed. I headed to the kitchen to get the coffee ready. I called out to my grandpops as I grabbed the coffee filters from the cabinet. He didn’t respond. I finished preparing the coffee and headed down the hall to his room.
By Mario Dantae5 years ago in Families
Bookshop After Hours
Adam moves silently through the aisles of the bookshop, avoiding the squeaky floor plank next to the stairs. The shop is closed. Safety lights cast shadows onto the corner of the reading nook and the elevated platform, spilling texture on the plush carpet and upholstered club chairs. He takes the stairs two at a time, muscles strong from years of rock climbing — reaching the top landing in a single breath. Agatha, the resident ghost, floats behind the reference desk a few feet away.
By @choosethesmiles5 years ago in Families
The Color Cure
“Three thousand, maybe four … tops.” Tom gave Beryl a sympathetic frown. “Your father was known more as a collector and appraiser than as a painter. It’s good, don’t get me wrong. Lovely composition, gorgeous color. But the subject matter has limited appeal, and he’s not a highly collectible name. After fees you’d end up with around $1,500.”
By Sylvan Raine5 years ago in Families
For Angelo
His mom’s voice beckoned him through the walls, an unintelligible jumble of hushed, anxious sounds that demanded investigating. Troy imagined himself a spy, no, a ninja as he navigated the obstacle course of creaky floorboards in the hallway. He pressed himself against the wall outside his mom’s room and listened, glad that the warped wood of her door left it permanently ajar.
By Sophie Richton5 years ago in Families
